


Sel et Poivre

by girlingoldboots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlingoldboots/pseuds/girlingoldboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg was a teenager he spent his summers with his grandmother.</p><p>Written for the prompt *older/younger* for thegameison_sh on LiveJournal. No warning except for the abuse of the French language/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sel et Poivre

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing to note, but if you're so inclined the tip jar is open:  
> [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A4012NV1)

When Gregory was thirteen he found the first few strands of grey hair. By the time he was seventeen he had gone almost completely silver, with some sprinkling of 'sel et poivre' as his grand-mère called it. The elderly woman assured him that it was distinguished looking and going grey at a young age was a Lestrade male trait.

Unfortunately her words never seemed to matter much once the summer with her was over and he was back in London with a new school year facing him. He paid no never-mind to any teasing he would or would not endure. First reason being what good would it do him to worry about things that haven't happened yet and the second was he had always been one of those students who were in that fugue state between popular and unpopular. It was better to be below the bully radar, but he would be damned if he was going to be a coward about it.

He shook himself out of these thoughts when grand-mère opened up the back door and called to him "Voulez du thé, cher?"

"Veuillez oui, Nana." He called back, coming in from the yard work he had been doing for her. Since his grandfather died he had taken it upon himself to do the 'man' chores around her home during his time with her. It was a comfortable routine to his summer holiday. He'd ask her what needed be done, she would protest whilst handing over a list, and bake him biscuits for his efforts. Fortunately it was nothing a seventeen year-old going on thirty could not handle.

"Wipe your feet." She said, switching to English.

He nodded and took off his shoes and left them in the hallway. Going into the kitchen he took a couple of biscuits and sat down while she poured them tea. He waited until she sat with him and had her own cup, then he polished both biscuits off.

"Looking forward to starting university this year?" She asked.

"Yeah. This past school year's been rough." There was relief in his voice.

"Oh, and university won't be?" She grinned.

"No, I just mean that things won't be so..." He couldn't explain what he meant.

"Childish? My Love I hate to tell you, but you'll run into that where ever you go."

"Hopefully in Uni no one will call me Grand-dad." He tried to make it a joke, but there was still a sting to it. "Seems stupid, it's not the worst thing I could be called."

"But still you were called that." She replied. "You could dye your hair you know? I hear it's what you kids do these days."

He laughed. "Thought about it, but it just seemed so...false. It's not me."

"There's falsehood in the world as well, Mon petit chou." she said using his babyhood nickname and finishing her cup. "But either way you have your whole life ahead of you. Next summer you don't have to come visit. I want you to enjoy yourself. No sense looking after this old thing."

"But I like visiting you!" He said sounding broken hearted.

"But you have friends, maybe even a girlfriend eventually one of these days. You should spend time with them."

"But it's quiet here." He replied. "And I see my friends all through the rest of the year."

What could she say to that? She was doing very well about hiding a lot of her health failings from him. She wanted to spare him the sight of her losing ground slowly. She feared the day she wouldn't remember her grandson. "Then do not mind me, I'm just an old fool who spoils you too much."

He smiled broadly at her, already counting down the days until the next summer with her.


End file.
